


Nurse Dianite

by PhantasmaDormi



Series: Syndianite/Diacate [12]
Category: Mianite - Fandom, Mianite(Minecraft Series), Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Characters based purely on the youtube series, Dianite is a God, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Rare Pair, Tom is a zombie, Unrevised Older Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2019-01-09 06:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12270360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantasmaDormi/pseuds/PhantasmaDormi
Summary: Tom keeps getting hurt. His injuries don’t stop him from pursuing more stupid ideas. At one point, Dianite had to put his foot down.





	Nurse Dianite

**Author's Note:**

> Old work from late July

Tom’s revival wasn’t perfect. His heart had to be removed, the organ damaged beyond reasonable repair (Dianite could easily fix it, though there would be much more work in having the body accept the altered part. It was easier to forgo it, instead giving him a non-beating ‘heart’). Semi-vital connections in his body were incomplete, nerves didn’t fire as often, his senses weren’t as strong as the average human’s (Though his eyes remained sharp, often seeing people far outside the natural eyesight of humans. 

Writing words and reading them were harder though, in part due to the concussion he received before he died that festered over years, and in part due to his native language being different from the one he most often came across.), and his impulses held a tendency to fire faster than his logic and reasoning. (That, however, was debatably not a side-effect of the zombified injuries that remained unhealed, as he was known to act before he thought even as a human.)

The zombie never advertised these facts, preferring to keep his ‘weaknesses’ to himself. (One could argue that they weren’t weaknesses, but rather proof he was stronger than the death that tried to keep hold on him). This lead to him gaining injuries neither he nor anyone else noticed, the natural pain receptors failing to angrily notify him of the agony.

Today carried one such instance. The chaos champion had been making a tactical retreat (He muttered under his breath about Jardon grassin on him again, that little bitch.) when he miss threw one of his ender pearls. Instead of the lofty arc he had intended, it was launched at a nearly horizontal angle into the side of a cliff. This ended with him falling to the ground in a jumbled mess, body still buzzing with the sting of ender teleportation. At hearing Tucker’s laugh, he rapidly launched another pearl, and kindly flipped the Mianitee off.

He continued to flee, trying to throw the Mianitees off his trail, (In reality, Jordan was the closest to getting him, having downed a swiftness potion), flinging ender pearls in a mixture of airy lobs and beelining whizzing. As he widened the gap between them, he noticed a strange clicking sound. It stayed in time with his footsteps, and was vaguely reminiscent of a skeleton walking. The zombie couldn’t place the noise, but as he slowed the sound settled to a faint click. With a shrug, he wrote it off as him popping his hip bone in his earlier mistakes (His joints seemed to enjoy jumping from their places from time to time, finding ways to dislocate, which never really hurt, or pop in various situations). That was his first mistake.

~

Later that day he found himself back in the danger zone, bored. The aggravating sound was only noticeable in the silences brought by lack of companionship, and he knew exactly who could make that better. 

“Sparklez,” the zombie yelled out as he passed the priest’s house, on his way to the Ianitee’s home, “1v1 me!” 

The Captain heaved a sigh as the calls for battle drew closer. He knew the green man wanted to enact some sort of revenge for assisting the Mianitees in hunting him, but honestly, he was overpowering him.

“Why though,” he shouted out a reply from his balcony, resigned to the zombie’s pestering. 

This seemed to be the wrong approach, as it encouraged Tom further. 

“Because snitches get stitches!” He worked his way up the hill, a slight limp in his right leg. As Jordan inspected him closer, he assumed the zombie wasn’t aware he was doing it. It must have been an older injury, mostly healed, but enough to cause minute trouble. If the fight went south, that would be his opening. The Ianitee groaned as he begrudgingly realized he more or less accepted the invitation to duel. (Later, when he had seen Tom in better condition, he’d think back to his earlier observations. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but certainly not correct).

Just as Tom waltzed up to the Casa de Sparklez it’s resident walked out, suited up in his enchanted diamond armor. The zombie was sporting similar attire, though his set look a tad worse for wear. He grinned excitedly, though it came across more as devilish. (Jordan found himself making many comparisons to demonic figures when it came to Tom. In his head at least, the zombie seemed to embody chaos, even in his tamer moments). “Well, you sausage, we gonna do this or what?” He impatiently shifted onto his left leg, a potion gripped between slender fingers.

“Let’s do this.” He launched forward, no making the mistake of letting his agile opponent get the first hit. His sword whipped through the air where the Dianitee once stood, and he made a follow up in a fluid movement. Though his goddess represented peace, he knew he had to keep his combat skills sharp for when said peace was forcefully disrupted.

“Wait, shit!” Tom back peddled, stumbling when the next strike skidded against his chest plate. 

“Let me pot up dammit.” The Ianitee just chuckled, continuing his assault. 

“Now why would I do that,” he teased the zombie, who both narrowly dodged another blow and knocked back what seemed to be a strength potion. 

“Bitch,” the zombie bit out in good nature, flicking his blade at his attacker with the flick of his wrist. It chipped into his shoulder, digging into the armor in a shallow scrap. Then it burned, a fire spreading from the scratch with an added push breaking his balance. Fire aspect and knockback. In close quarters, especially with Tom’s quick and brutal attacking style, this could turn the tide in the zombie’s favor in an instant.

The hit took a staggering amount of damage, despite the remote location it was in. But the captain knew giving the Dianitee any opening would result in his loss, so he reciprocated the blow, taking advantage of the closeness his opponent set up. Though his sword lacked the extra damage Tom’s fire aspect gave, his sharpness V, that he lucked upon, coupled with a measly knockback I would push for his favor if he played it well. As the zombie was forced back, he dove in for another hit. To his surprise, Tom pivoted around him, and from the sound of it, downed another potion.

(The zombie had learned that from Furia, having been on the receiving end one too many times. He was also accustomed to ducking between people’s legs, Furia once more, twisting a swing into another direction last second, Furia again, and was capable of fighting off someone behind him by purely feeling where there movements were going, thanks Furia.)

Jordan tried to turn before he was attacked, but Tom was quicker on the uptake. With inhuman speed (he had definitely taken a speed potion) he aggressively cut into the weaker points in his armor, drawing blood. (Though the zombie was vicious, he always made sure to keep his cuts shallow, whenever they sparred). With a curse, Jordan tried to regain his bearings, the fire creeping out from around the wound once more along with a staggering push. In a moment of weakness, he played dirty. Despite his shaky balance, he thrust his leg out, planting his foot against Tom’s right knee. The resulting screech was unexpected.

The Dianitee collapsed heavily onto his left side, barely avoiding skewering himself. He curled around his leg, seized in delayed agony. His hands hovered just above his shin, shaking. Jordan froze in shock for a moment. On one hand, the green man was known to play tricks to catch his more compassionate opponents off guard. On the other, the sheer anguish on his face belied his sincerity. He dropped to the ground next to him in an instant, fingers delicately tracing down from his knee. Though there were no protrusions from the leg, as he brushed over the middle of his shin the man convulsed, his leg only kept still by Jordan’s steadying hand above his knee.

“Shit,” the Ianitee cursed. “This is bad,” he mumbled to himself as Tom struggled to keep his breathing even. 

(This was not his first time fighting such pain, Furia had inflicted many harsh wounds in their previous sparring, though Dianite was always present to patch it up). Biting his lip, the Ianite champion looked over to the priest’s house, over the hill, but still far enough away. Declan was the only official healer of the land, both a neutral force and a well-informed one.

“I’m sorry Tom.” Was the only warning given to the injured man as he was lifted into strong arms. His leg jostled and another wave of pain raced up his leg. 

“Fuck,” he moaned, face going pale. 

“Hang in there buddy. Dec’ll fix you up. Promise. We just have to get over this hill, and it’ll get better.” Jordan continued to keep with the encouragement, focusing on getting his violent friend to medical help.

Dec was quick to assess the situation and act. His first order was to lay Tom on the single spare bed he had (he was still undergoing renovation), and to remove his pants as carefully as possible, as he went to get supplies. After removing the zombie’s shoes, Jordan worked on his pants, cringing at each choked whimper (even now, the Dianitee tried his best to remain strong), every gasp. For a moment, he wondered if he was feeling Tom’s pain. (It was ridiculous, but hearing and seeing the pain his friend was in gave him phantom vibes).

After painstakingly removing the garment, Tom rest on the bed breathing hard. Declan returned with a stranger in tow, not bothering introductions. For a moment, the strange dark-skinned male leveled a heated look at the Ianitee, his eyes a bright hazel that flashed a pure golden hue, before he centered his attention on the injured zombie. His face twisted into concern.

With a nod to Dec, he lightly pushed against Tom’s shin, receiving a groan in response. 

After poking at it for a moment, he relayed his observations, “Fractured tibia, a rough break that created a couple of separate pieces.” The priest considered this, before turning to Jordan. “This is a…. friend of mine. His name is D… Damien, and he is more medically proficient than myself. I suppose he’ll need to set the bone, and if it’s bad enough go through with surgery. We’ll want to give him space.” He wasted no time in dragging Jordan from the room. He managed one last glance before the door was shut.

~

“You are such a fucking dumbass.” The deep growl prompted Tom to open his eyes. Before him, the cinnamon hue to ‘Damien’s’ skin warped into a garnet splendor. The excess clothing dissipated in a cloud of smoke, freeing the figure to rise in height. With a final cracking of two horns curling from his head, Dianite stood before the zombie in his full glory.

“Well,” the champion quipped, “I’m your dumbass.” The god gave him an unamused look, clearly unimpressed by the tightness in his voice and the pinch of his lips. Dia took a proper look at the wounded mortal, sweat glistening on his skin, an attempted smile that appeared more as a grimace, his general lack of pants. With a wave of his hand the rest of his clothes were removed. (Though he let him keep his underwear for sake of modesty, he didn’t see the point. Nothing he hadn’t seen before).

“So, here’s what we are going to do,” Dianite began, maintaining eye contact with the pained man, “I will let your leg heal at an accelerated pace. In exactly twenty-four hours, it will be fully healed, all your bones set in place. Before you spout your entitlement,” Dia leaned closer into Tom’s personal space, “This is to punish you. Had you decided to be more aware, and not simply write off your injury, for your friend could not have snapped your leg in such a way, likely from your earlier escape, you could have treated this before it became painful.” He quieted for a moment, considering something. “In a way, however, your lack of pain in your retreat ultimately led you to safety, so it wasn’t completely bad. Tomorrow, you can tell your friend that you prayed for healing.”

He rolled his shoulders, before falling back into his human disguise with a series of pops and grunts. 

“For now, I’ll be moving you from here. If any are to ask, you were taken to a ‘more equipped site’ for better medical attention.” The god smoothly picked Tom up, carefully cradling his injured leg away from him. Toeing open the door, he was met with Dec, who gave a nod of respect. Though no words were exchanged, the zombie got the feeling the priest was aware that the one carrying him was in fact Dianite. (Later, he would learn Dec had called for him upon perceiving the injury to be severe. He was suspicious of whether the priest knew of their special   
relationship).

~

The first reaction Furia had was to laugh. He was on his way to give his lord information on potential new recruits when he stepped into the throne room. Before him sat his lord, of course, but with one unhappy, blanketed zombie settled sideways across his lap. The god’s arms were firmly wrapped around his waist, and his tail seemed to have snuck around one of his thighs. From where his chin rested on top of his head anyone could see the smug smirk clearly. He decided to better of laughing.

“Milord,” the fire demon spoke, “I have the profiles you were asking for.” He eyed the couple for a moment, before letting an amused expression filter across his face. “I suppose I could leave it in your office, if you’re busy.” 

The champion fidgeted in his seat as the god responded, “Nonsense, I will view them here. It will be good practice for Tom to know who best fits my army. He will, after all, be leading a branch.” With a nod, Furia waltzed up to Dianite and handed over the documents. 

“If that is all, I have other matters to attend to.” Dia snorted, before dismissing him, “Yes, that’ll be all. You can attend to your garden now.” Glowering at the god, the fiery being stalked off.

“You know what,” Tom spoke up as he shifted in the god’s lap again, “Fuck you. I cannot just sit here all fucking day!” 

Mumbling, he added, “No matter how comfortable you fucking are.” 

Dianite hummed, lifting an arm, still tucked around Tom, to better see the documents, “No dear, I fuck you. As if you could top me.” 

The zombie spluttered, a blush rising to his cheeks. Turning his face into his chest, he sulkily muttered, “Why do you have to be a bitch all the time.”

(The god retorted, that Tom was in fact, his bitch, and he wanted to pray for the day to pass by faster. At the same time, he was just a little content here, in the arms of his lover)


End file.
